


Sanity Restored

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Series: Higher Powers [3]
Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Original Characters Take Center Stage, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15699432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: A glimpse at Jake and David after the end of "Step Two."





	Sanity Restored

**Author's Note:**

> A few years ago, I wrote a story called “Step Two.” An original character named Jake played a prominent role, and by the end of the fic he’d found a new sub named David. A surprising number of readers asked me for a Jake and David story. Over the years, I’ve gone from saying that, yeah, I would probably do that, to saying that, nope, I’ve moved on and it’s not going to happen. 
> 
> Three years after finishing Step Two, I still get requests for that Jake/David story. I finally talked myself into writing a little something about them, and here it is. Mike and Harvey appear in the story, so I can still call it a Suits fic. It’s written from David’s first person POV, because in my head he has a strong voice which demands to be heard.
> 
> The title, “Sanity Restored,” is a callback to the second of the AA/NA 12 steps: “Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”
> 
> There’s a thing I’m not sure how to tag. If you’re one of those folks who get tetchy about Mike or Harvey touching other people, there’s a thing that happens, that you probably won’t like, so … proceed with caution (or not at all).
> 
> Sorry the wait for this was so long. I hope y’all enjoy it. (Unless you decide not to read it.)

My resurrection took place when I was twenty-two years old, when chances ran about fifty-fifty whether I would see another birthday.

I suppose you could say I owe my life to Mike Ross.

It’s not a comfortable thought, but who could have predicted when I ran into Mike at that first meeting, how drastically my circumstances would change as a result of knowing him? Not me.

First impressions? I thought he was just some simpatico stoner dude with a mild case of stick-in-butt. He was wearing a Columbia t-shirt. I was wearing a Columbia t-shirt. If I believed in fate, I could make something of that. Maybe it did play a small role, but that’s it. Fate doesn’t rule me.

The only thing that rules me these days is my Master. Jake Salvatori.

 

******

 

I was such a piece of shit when Jake found me. I was lying to everyone daily.

Hourly.

I breathed lies in, and I shat lies out. I lied to my parents, my sister, my teachers (before my expulsion), my friends (before I lost them all), my pot dealer. I lied to store clerks and food vendors and cab drivers, just because I thought I could get away with it. I _could_ get away with it. believed I was being diabolically clever, but the truth was I got away with it because nobody gave a fuck what came out of my mouth. Nobody gave a fuck about me.

When it came to lying to Jake, I gave it a mighty effort, even though right from the start both Mike and Harvey warned me that was not a good idea. It turned out okay, eventually, but he damn near killed me during our first month together. It was all good, though. I got the punishment I wanted (and needed) and Jake and I learned some important things about each other.

 

******

 

In the beginning, Mike intimidated me for a lot of reasons – once I knew what the situation was, that is. To me, he was (is) the perfect sub. He also had these two hot guys on his side, looking after him. When I moved in with Jake, it took a while before he stopped comparing me to Mike. It was all, “Mike would never have done that,” or, “Why can’t you follow orders like Mike?” Worst of all was, “Mike was so beautiful when he suffered.” Implying that I was not. That probably hurt most of all, even more than the cane and the whip and the paddle.

Well, to be fair, he had a point. I’m not exactly the pretty boy type, not like Mike. I’m not terrible to look at. People are always comparing me to Aaron Paul. You know, that train wreck kid from _Breaking Bad?_ Maybe I look like him a little, but it’s mostly my attitude. Brash. Crass. Snotty. No filter _at all._

Mike admitted to me once that Harvey regularly gags him, not so much to shut him up, but to make him go quiet inside his own head. Any Dom but Jake might have seen that as a useful strategy for my constantly running mouth, but he’s … Jake’s got a unique perspective on things. He figured out that punishment would work best on me. Not an original concept, but the type of punishment? That was downright genius.

I like pain. I guess that makes me a masochist, maybe? I’m not up on all the terminology. I may have gotten into Columbia, but I’m the first to admit that I’m not exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier. My parents insisted on college. I’m not saying that money exchanged hands under the table with the Dean of Admissions, but I’m not saying that it didn’t.

Shit. What was I talking about? Oh, yeah. Me and pain. I like getting it, and Jake pops a major boner whenever he gets to dish it out. So, you’d think we’d exist in an endless, perfect feedback loop. That’s how we started out. I mouthed off. He strapped me to one piece of equipment or another in his play room, and tried out the flogger, and the paddle, and the cane. I’d scream myself hoarse and come like a freight train. Like a thousand freight trains.

Lesson not learned.

Jake adapted.

After a while, he only dealt out pain as a reward. For punishment, I was required to sit completely still for long periods – made longer if I messed up and moved. I wasn’t allowed to come, and he made sure of that, trying out all sorts of cock rings and cages until he hit upon the one that worked best. It was this nasty bit of engineering called “The Intimidator,” basically a cock cage with sharp pointy things on the inside, that tightened and contracted via remote control. For my own peace of mind, I choose to believe its creator designed it with safeguards built in, because if not, that thing could do serious damage. As it was, it did the job of keeping me flaccid and enforcing obedience.

I may enjoy pain, but The General must be protected at all costs, if you get my meaning.

Did I mention what a piece of shit I was? That goddamn Intimidator stayed on for weeks at a time. I think the record was something like a month and a half. I acted like I didn't mind, but I hated it. So much. It did the job, though. Six months into my first contract with Jake, I could rival even Saint Mike for subby perfection.

Did Jake break me? Maybe. Maybe I needed breaking.

 

******

 

Mike was a few months ahead of me, sobriety-wise, and I’d been with Jake a bit less than a year when he received his one-year coin at our regular Saturday night meeting.

Mike was looking good that night, but let’s face it, he always looked good. Harvey too. They both wore black jeans and black leather jackets. Mike’s t-shirt was white, and Harvey’s dark grey. Monochromatic hotness at its finest, or embarrassingly matchy-matchy? Probably a bit of both.

I felt like a slug by comparison, as per usual. I had Jake with me, though, and he outshone everyone in the room without even trying. As per usual.

Mike gave a nice little speech about his using days, and his arrest, and working the program like a good little addict. He gave a shout out to his sponsor, Harvey. As always, I had to restrain myself from laughing like a lunatic. If only the other stiffs in the room knew what Harvey had done and continued to do to Mike. And what Jake did for me.

I sometimes wondered why we didn’t just start our own meetings. There had to be other sponsor/sponsees like us around. New York was a big city. Those meetings would have been entertaining as fuck.

Come to think of it, we did sort of have that at Payne, which is where we headed after the meeting.

 

******

 

I’d been a good boy all week, and Jake had hinted that he had something special planned for me. It was Mike’s big night, though, so first we would observe his reward for reaching the one-year milestone.

As we sat downstairs, waiting for their room to be prepared, Harvey surprised us all, and Mike in particular, by presenting him with a collar. Being Harvey, it was an extravagant piece of jewelry – platinum links that lay flat against Mike’s collarbone, with an engraved rectangular piece in front that read, “Property of HRS.” Mike would be able to wear the collar under his shirt and tie and show it off when he was away from work.

I held in my burning jealousy as well as I was able, while Mike and Harvey made nauseating heart eyes at one another. Jake noticed, of course, and favored me with a discreet thwap on the back of the head.

After that, I didn’t want to watch what came next between them, but Jake insisted. They had a reputation at the club for their remarkable edge play. It was impressive, but it always unsettled me for some reason. Mike seemed so gone … so ecstatic as Harvey took him again and again and again just to the edge, and then pulled him back. I almost wished Jake had never seen them like that. I didn’t want him to get any ideas. If he tried that extreme stuff on me, I might have to stab him in the face, which would be a terrible waste. He had such a nice face.

Two hours later, when Harvey finally let Mike come, and my knees had begun to ache from kneeling for so long, Jake dug a hand into my hair and pulled my head back, so he could meet my gaze.

“We’re going to take a little drive,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal.

I gulped, both nervous and turned on. Not wanting to jinx the evening, I wisely kept my mouth shut and gave an enthusiastic nod.

 

******

 

Jake had had a good couple of years, career-wise. He'd landed a number of juicy commissions for his art that required hiring three assistants and had him working long hours, including part of every weekend.  He still made time for me. I went to his studio on the days I didn’t have classes. I was more of an assistant to his assistants, and I wasn't being paid, but he kept me plenty busy.

I didn't mind. I would have done anything he asked.

He’d used some of his financial windfall to buy a place in the Hamptons, more than a cottage, less than a mansion, and most importantly it was secluded, standing on a bluff overlooking the ocean, with no other houses within screaming distance. Not that that was an issue. Before he took me there the first time, he installed a play room even more elaborate and comprehensive than the one in his apartment. The sound-proofing was state of the art.

Whenever he took me there, I knew I was in for it – in the best possible way.

That night, the night of Mike’s one-year mark, we left right from the club. Jake cuffed my wrists to my ankles, slipped a blindfold over my eyes, and settled me in the backseat of his pickup truck with a blanket draped over me. Then he turned up the country music and hit the road. Two hours later, we arrived, and I was so turned on when Jake uncuffed me that I could barely walk to the front door. Seeing my difficulty, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me in. Problem solved.

We didn't get started in the play room right away. Jake let me walk (and crawl) off some of the stiffness from the long drive and the restraints. He also insisted I down a sports drink. Ever since my legs cramped up that one time, he's been a stickler for adequate hydration.

Eventually, he led me to the huge bathroom next to the play room, and I endured a thorough and thrillingly humiliating cleaning. Another thing I love about Jake: he gives good enema.

Usually Jake doesn't ask my opinion, but this was a reward for good behavior, plus a surprising 3.4 GPA in my last semester at Columbia. As he toweled my dry, he said, "You may choose either the furniture, or the tool. Everything else will be my choice."

I bit my lip, pretending to consider. We both knew damn well what my choice would be. "Please, Master," I whispered, unable to disguise the excited tremor in my voice, "may I have the cane?"

"Yes, sweet boy. It would be my utmost pleasure."

He pointed at the floor to indicate I should crawl, and led me to the play room. I watched as he fiddled with the lights for half a minute, turning most of them low. When he highlighted the St. Andrews Cross as if it was a piece of art in an exhibit, it was clear that I'd be spending the next hour or more restrained to it. I knew better by now than to speak, even to thank him for his generosity. I knelt obediently out of his way while he arranged everything to his liking.

I approved, which … well that was hardly the point, but it was nights like this that made me so fucking happy. I loved the cross and he knew it. I could have licked his feet in gratitude, toe by beautiful toe. I maintained my position, fervently hoping that my devotion shone in my eyes. It must have, because when he'd finished his preparations he gave me a fond smile and ruffled my hair. My stiff, slightly wobbly cock betrayed my eagerness. The only thing that gets me hotter than Jake's brand of pain is having all his attention focused on me.

He helped me to my feet and positioned me in front of the cross, squeezing my ass before expertly cuffing me in place. As always, he asked to hear my safe word. I won’t repeat it here, because it’s personal and a little embarrassing.

As he often did, Jake warmed me up with his flogger. He did it as much as an exercise in patience (mine) as to prepare me for what was to come. In our early days, this is the point where I would have begun goading him, asking if that was all he had, questioning his manhood. Not surprisingly, those sorts of manipulations never had the desired – or expected – effect on Jake. He is the master manipulator, the master strategist.

The Master. Full stop.

The first cut of the cane was as sudden and wicked and exquisite as always. I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly as the pain radiated through my bottom. Then, because Master required it, I moaned, “Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”

He took his time, allowing each cut of pain to develop and bloom, and to savor my reactions. Jake loved this every bit as much as I did, maybe more. It thrilled me to hear his own labored breathing behind me, and the faint whisper of flesh on fabric as he rubbed his erection through his jeans. I wouldn’t mind some rubbing of my own, but I knew it would be a while before we got to that, provided I continued to behave myself.

The next cut caught me by surprise, and I let out a strangled scream before remembering to thank him.

“Stay present, boy,” he murmured.

I wanted to ask where he thought I could have gone, but I pressed my lips together, biting back the instinctive sass. “I’m sorry, Master. May I have another?”

To demonstrate his forgiveness and magnanimity, he unleashed a rapid volley of cuts, ten in a row, that had me gasping and trembling and humping air. I felt untethered, and took flight. “God,” I groaned, forgetting protocol. “So good, Master. More of that. Please. Oh, please.”

I’m not sure how long it continued after that. One cut followed the next, merging together into a wall of all-encompassing agony. I screamed and screamed and rode the waves of pain until my legs gave out and I hung limply from the cross.

I understand that most people don’t enjoy pain and will do almost anything to avoid it. I used to be like that, which explains all the drug use. Jake rescued me from that and woke me to my true nature. For those two things alone, I would love and revere him forever. The sex, though … That took things to a whole new level.

With one massive arm around my waist to keep me from collapsing to the floor, and with his front pressed to my throbbing back and ass, he carefully unfastened my restraints and helped me to the bed. He laid me on my back, and I gazed blearily up at him, squirming a little to set off new streaks of pain. My dick was so hard that if I hadn’t been as well-trained as I was, I would have exploded then and there.

He stood where I had an excellent view of him, and stroked lube onto his massive cock. If I was the sort of person who was easily intimidated, that would have done the trick. The first time I’d gotten a good look at what was in store for me, I may have done a double or triple take. On that occasion, I’d only been expected to swallow him. Ha. That was half-farce, and half hot as a pool of magma on the surface of the sun. Since then, I’ve had that cock stuffed inside me plenty of times, splitting me open, and let me just say, holy fucking wow. The man has ruined me for all lesser cocks, forever and in perpetuity.

Now, he rolled me onto my stomach, lifted my hips, and shoved in, slow and careful but without mercy. Usually we fucked face to face, but after a session like this, he loved to press himself to the hot, red marks he’d placed on my backside and pump into me, making me scream the roof down.

Which is what I did for the next hour.

When he allowed me to come, my voice had dwindled to a dry rasp. I shuddered and shook and just went away for a while.

After that, he cleaned me up, as tender and gentle now as he’d been unrelentingly cruel before, and carried me to the bedroom for snacks and sweet ginger tea and cuddles. Yep, you heard me right. Jacob Salvatori, Master of my universe, is a cuddler.

 

 

******

 

I suppose it only made sense that we would spend time hanging out with Mike and Harvey. There were dinners – both at home and out – weekends in the Hamptons, long, blissful nights at _Payne._ It wasn’t until something like six months into my time with Jake that I learned of his past with Harvey. I knew Harvey was a recovering alcoholic, but he was such an imposing Dom that it hadn’t occurred to me that he’d spent time as Jake’s sub.

Harvey had moved far away from that dynamic when I met him, but occasionally I amused myself imagining him strapped across a bench getting spanked or caned by Jake. I had to be careful not to allow anything to show on my face during these little masturbatory visions. Harvey had caught me at least once gazing his way with more than casual interest.

Maybe that explains how Mike and I ended up sucking one another off for the viewing pleasure of our Doms. It happened during one of our weekends in the Hamptons. Jake kept an assortment of pillows on the floor in the great room, and Mike and I had flopped down naked on them to eat popcorn while Jake and Harvey sat in the matching leather recliners, with half an eye on the Yankees game on television, and the rest of their attention on us.

Neither Harvey or Mike had truly warmed to me yet. They tolerated me because I was with Jake, but there was that whole drug deal gone sideways all those months ago that remained between us. Mike eventually admitted to me that he’d been harshly punished – rightly so, since he had initiated the deal. That may have been the source of his ambivalence, and Harvey’s as well.

On this night, Mike and I were sniping back and forth at one another as usual, except this time we didn’t keep it under the radar as skillfully as on other occasions. Stupidly, in an effort to annoy, I asked him if he’d ever imagined Jake and Harvey together. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer, and I wouldn’t let up. I knew our conversation had been overheard when Jake and Harvey spoke at the same time.

“Mike,” scolded Harvey. “Behave.”

Jake, as usual, was already a couple steps ahead of him. “That’s enough boys. Keep at it and you’ll have to kiss and make up.”

And just like that, Mike and I began giving one another speculative glances. My glances were interested but his were more sort of … vaguely horrified. Which hurt my feelings because I might be an acquired taste, but I’m not exactly chopped liver either.

Maybe Harvey had seen Mike’s flash of distaste, and intended to teach Mike a lesson in manners, because he expanded on Jake’s offhand remark. “Actually, I believe I’d like to see that. How about you, Jake?”

Jake must have caught onto the fact that Harvey meant it as punishment for Mike, because he hesitated, where normally he’d be all over that shit. We’d had foursomes with other couples, but never with these two because Harvey had his rules. I gathered now that kissing didn’t violate those rules.

Gaze sharp, Jake asked me, “Davey? How do you feel about that?”

I dropped my eyes and assumed the position, on my knees, wrists crossed behind my back, all at once determined to out-sub little Mr. Perfect. “If it pleases you, Master,” I murmured.”

Mike made a brief gagging sound, but followed my lead, kneeling before his Dom and giving every appearance of humble obedience.

“Okay, baby,” urged Harvey, “go on and kiss him.”

Mike thought he would get away with just a little peck on the lips, but if this was punishment, he was getting the full meal deal. I grabbed the back of his neck, holding him in place, and jammed my tongue into the “O” of surprise his mouth had made. I Frenched him good, not letting up until I felt him relax and begin to submit to me. Then I pulled away and grinned in his face.

It turned out I’d made a tactical error.

Jake and Harvey must have liked what they saw. Next thing I knew, they were shifting pillows around, positioning us in a classic sixty-nine arrangement, and placing a bet on who could make who come first. The one with the winning sub would gain permanent possession of a painting Jake had done of Harvey which had been an ongoing bone of contention between them.

Although I couldn’t have cared less about the painting, I wanted to win that bet for Jake. At the same time, I felt conflicted, because I didn’t want to give Mike the satisfaction, so to speak. Then Jake sweetened the pot. If I won, we’d spend a whole week together, just the two of us, here in the Hamptons. Harvey offered Mike some lame reward or another, the right to wear pants at dinner for a month, or something stupid like that. Then he cautioned that if Mike lost, he’d have to do something called “mudding” with someone named Louis. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but gathered that the stakes had just shot sky-high for Mike.

We went at one another, both of us determined to show our superior skills. Right away, it became clear that we were fairly evenly matched. That made sense, I guess. We’d both spent the last year or so honing our techniques on two demanding Doms. He swirled his tongue and hummed. I cradled his balls before diving behind them to tongue into his hole.

“Careful,” I heard Jake murmur, and remembered Harvey’s no penetration rule. I retreated, but made up for lost ground by deep-throating Mike in a sneak attack that caused him to arch up against me, gasping around my cock.

I had the advantage in the deep-throating department. Compared to Jake, anyone else seemed only average, even a decently endowed guy like Mike.

Now I had him where I wanted him, and I was driving him towards the finish line, secure in my impending victory. Then the devious bastard performed his own deep throat maneuver, and at the same time gave my sensitive inner thigh a vicious pinch. I gasped, teetering right on the edge, and he pinched me again, so hard my eyes watered. I gave a shout and came down his throat.

When the haze cleared, three sets of eyes watched me expectantly, and I realized I was still required to return the favor. I’d already lost, and in spite of the screaming orgasm Mike had just wrung out of me, I was feeling that old, familiar sulkiness. Hoping to disguise it from Jake, I rolled away from Mike, onto my back, and invited him to fuck my face. If I had to go through with this, I could at least force him to do all the work.

“No, Davey.” Jake's voice was stern and laced with disappointment. He knew precisely what I was doing and why. “Make it good for him, sweetheart.”

I was tempted to argue the point. Who knew? Maybe Mike would have enjoyed taking the active role. However, making a scene in front of Mike and Harvey – making a scene, period – would represent major backsliding on my part. I’d come too far in the past year for that. I may have just lost a full, precious week of Jake’s undivided attention, but unless I swallowed Mike’s cock, and fast, I was in danger of seeing a reappearance of the dreaded Intimidator.

I got to sucking. I put everything I had into it, not to be showy or anything like that, but to give Mike the greatest amount of pleasure possible. In my mind, I imagined him as a proxy for Jake, and that’s all it took for me to sink back down into submission and service. I drew out his pleasure for as long as I could, until my jaw began to ache. As I worked him over with everything in my arsenal, I remembered all those scenes at _Payne,_ when Harvey had edged him all night long.

 _Shit._ What had I gotten myself into?

I kept at it until I was close to simply admitting failure. Then I heard Harvey’s soft command. “Come.”

Mike arched up with a groan and filled my mouth and throat. When I’d choked it all down, I collapsed onto my back, breathing hard, dangerously close to tears. Why did being around Mike always make me feel so inadequate?

Jake crooked a finger at me, and I crawled wearily over to kneel at his feet. He dragged me up into his lap and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my temple and using his big thumbs to wipe the moisture away from underneath my eyes. His softly murmured words were for my ears alone.

“You’re mine, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wouldn’t trade you for a hundred of him.”

His words had the intended effect of soothing my pride and making me forget all about the stupid bet. I pressed against him, as close as I could get, and the only thought in my head, the only emotion in my heart, was that I was completely, blissfully happy.

 

******

 

I didn’t get my week with Jake, not that time, but after Mike and Harvey left the following morning, we hung around for the rest of the day. Jake posed me in front of the picture window, with the ocean behind me, hands cuffed behind my back and a black leather posture collar around my neck. He sketched me like that, over and over, having me change the angle of my chin, or the spread of my knees, or one of a dozen other things each time.

I was curious, but knew better than to ask what the point of all this was. He finally told me, after he finished the last sketch.

“I’m going to paint you like that. I need something to replace that painting of Harvey.” At my surprised look, he walked over, ruffled my hair, and planted a soft kiss on my lips. “The first in a series. My magnum opus.”

I liked the sound of that, although I had to Google it later to find out what magnum opus meant. When I did, I liked it even more. It seemed that he planned on keeping me around for a long while.

We weren’t there yet, but in time I would become his magnus opus.

His masterpiece.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
